


Aches and Pains

by demonprincess7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Sherlock's complex train of thought, bossy John, mentions of drug use, undereating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonprincess7/pseuds/demonprincess7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock hasn't been eating properly. John tries to help his friend, but finds out about Sherlock's drug use and only grows more concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aches and Pains

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot but It got sorta complex and I'm considering a chapter 2. We'll see how it goes with my current projects.

 

John was reading the morning paper when Sherlock came running up the stairs. It wasn't uncommon for Sherlock to already be out and about by the time he got out of bed. As his dark-haired flatmate dashed past him and into his bed room John called out a pleasant, “morning” which may or may not have been returned. He heard a few things hit the floor as Sherlock searched for something hurriedly. Something round made a “plop” before John heard it roll across the floor.

 

“John, have you seen it?” Sherlock rushed back into the room to ask.

 

“Have I seen what, exactly?”

 

“Oh you know what,” He replied irritatedly.

 

“No I don't think I do.” He set his paper down on the table.

 

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair as though he could shake loose the memory of where he put this missing thing. Had he deleted it? No he didn't think so, this was important. He last remembered putting it in the space under the second wooden tile on the right side of the bedroom cupboard. John must have taken it. “My case. The small wooden box. What have you done with it?” He searched the mantle, on top of and underneath each table, and under the sofa cushions. “Where, John? Where is it?”

 

“Sherlock, I haven't touched anything. Why's it important anyway?”

 

“If you didn't take it who did?” _Mrs_. _Hudson wouldn't have._ _Lestrade only runs his silly little drugs busts when he wants something I'm not providing. Mycroft? It could be-_

 

“Sherlock? I said 'Why's it so important'?”

 

“Doesn't matter,” He said as he pulled on his coat and tied his scarf around his neck. He headed for the door, but he didn't make it far. The world tilted and spun. His vision went a bit blurry. He tried to say something to John, but all that came out was noise. He felt his right shoulder crash into the floor before his vision went black.

 

“Sherlock!” John was there in an instant. He checked his pulse. His heart was beating, he was breathing. _Oh, thank God._ He lifted Sherlock up and carried him to the sofa where he set him down as gently as he could. He ran upstairs to get his kit, silently cursing himself for not thinking to leave it down stairs. _How often does Sherlock get into trouble and I didn't think to have it close by?_

 

When he returned downstairs, Sherlock was still unconscious, but still breathing. John prepared a syringe and carefully drew a blood sample from Sherlock's right arm before he called Molly. She could take it back to the lab and run a few tests. John didn't know what else to do. He checked everything he could over and over again. All that remained would have to be in his blood. He'd just have to stay calm until Molly called with the results.

 

***

 

Sherlock woke slowly. He rubbed the back of his head where it ached. Probably more from the force of the fall than the drop itself. He'd landed on his right side, he remembered. He sat up slowly. His arm ached, but not from landing on it (however that _is_ why his shoulder did) but from the tiny mark on the inside of his arm. He hadn't done that, he's right-handed. _John must have taken a sample._ _Where is John?_ He looked toward the chairs near the fireplace. John was sitting in Sherlock's chair. His body was rigid and he watched him unblinking.

 

“Sherlock. Would you like to tell me... what just happened?” He tried to speak calmly, but the edge to his voice betrayed his anger.

 

 _Oh,_ God. _This is about the box isn't it. No wait, I fainted. John would be concerned. He took a blood sample. His mobile... it's there in his pocket. He sent it to St. Bart's and Molly would have texted him the results, so he would have realized that I haven't been eating properly again because I've been busy and it was important, more important than food, but I did eat, though apparently not enough I should have been more careful,_ he thought quickly.

 

“I know, I should have eaten more. It was stupid of me-”

 

John stood up. “I sent a blood sample to Molly.” _Of course you did, John I know that._ “From the results, you may as well have eaten nothing at all! Your glucose level fell so low you should be hospitalized!”

 

“John calm down, I'm fine.”

 

“No! Sherlock you're not!” He took a deep breath. “I realize when you're working you don't eat as much because it's distracting and what not, but from now on you're eating when I do-”

 

“Joh-”

 

“No Sherlock. As your doctor I have to insist. This is ridiculous. I'm going in the kitchen and I'm going to make breakfast and you're going to eat every bite if I have to feed you myself. Now you sit and just relax.” He shook his head as he walked away. “Nearly gave me a heart attack,” He muttered.

 

Sherlock sat back on the sofa and tried to relax as John suggested. He hadn't expected it to go as it did. So he'd skipped a couple of meals, he often did. The case he was working on had been especially demanding and he couldn't be bothered to stop. He should have for John's sake if nothing else.

 

A few minutes later, John called him to the table. Sherlock looked at the plate of pancakes and bacon in front of him. John expected him to eat all of it? He hadn't eaten that much at once in... well he must have deleted it. John watched him until he swallowed down several bites before he started on him own.

 

Sherlock ate most of it before he pushed the plate away and gave John a daring look. _Just try to feed me like a child._ John didn't bother. He was satisfied that his friend had eaten well enough and wouldn't be passing out over blood sugar any time soon.

 

John relaxed and finished off his tea when he remembered all the fuss from the morning. “Sherlock?” he asked.

 

“Hmm.”

 

“What was in that box you looking for?”

 

Sherlock kept his face neutral but inside he panicked a bit. _The box. My box, the one full of cocaine, the one I thought was stolen or missing but just remembered I'd moved it to the hallow under the fourth stair because Mycroft had threatened to send someone to retrieve it if he didn't get rid of it and he wouldn't think to look there so why would anyone else? Not when it made no noticeable sound when stepped on, not even to me. He took a blood sample, but it wouldn't have shown it's been about a month so as far as he knows I don't have any. Do I lie then? I can't possibly tell him not after all the panic I caused him I shouldn't have done that in the first place. Damn! Why didn't I realize I'd moved it? Lie. Lie. You must. John's a grown man he can handle it. What if he doesn't, what he gets angry, what if it's too much, what if he leaves? I can't cause him to leave, he's the only one who- he's so- he's my friend. He deserves to know doesn't he? It's none of his business really. What do I say, he's still looking at me?_

 

“Oh that,” He said in a way suggesting it was unimportant. “It was a gift from Mummy, holds a few family photos. I'd thought it was stolen, but I believe I know where it is.”

 

“Where?”

 

“It's in my room. I moved it a while ago, but I'd forgotten.”

 

“Oh,” John seemed disappointed.

 

Sherlock acted as though he hadn't noticed.

 

“Dammit, Sherlock!” John shouted suddenly. Sherlock flinched. He hadn't seen the outburst coming. “I know about the drugs. Mycroft called me. While you unconscious. We talked about this!”

 

“No _you_ demanded that I stop and I told you that I need it. It isn't my fault if you don't understand.”

 

“Understand? Sherlock you're poisoning your brain!”

 

“Stimulating. I'm stimulating my brain.”

 

“Call it what you like, but if I catch you using, holding, buying, or being in any way involved with any sort of drugs I am calling Mycroft.”

 

“He'd take them and I'd get more.”

 

“And I'll let him know about those.”

 

“Thus being in the cycle of buying and taking eventually ending with Mycroft having me arrested and put behind bars for another month. Don't be unreasonable John, you can't stop me and I need it when I'm not on a case.”

 

“What happened to the nicotine patches? You were doing well remember?”

 

“I _was,_ yes. I can only go so long before that gets boring, too. If you don't want me using, you'll just have to find something else for me to do between cases.” He left the room and John stared after him trying to figure out exactly what just happened.

**Author's Note:**

> So let me know if I should write that second chapter. (pretty please)


End file.
